Read Madame Tussaud: A Novel of the French Revolution for Free Online

ever take in. He fancied himself part of the nobility and arranged to purchase a château from the kind and friendly Monsieur de la Motte. When Monsieur sent his wife to collect the payment, Desrues invited the pretty woman to dinner.”
    Curtius leads the group to the next model. She is a woman in her thirties in a beautiful gown and a fashionable hat.
    “At first, the evening went well. Desrues was charming, as men like him can be. But as soon as Madame de la Motte wasn’t looking, Desrues slipped poison into her wine. Within the evening, Madame de la Motte was dead!”
    The queen inhales sharply.
    “The next week, Madame de la Motte’s sixteen-year-old son came searching for her. Enticing the boy into his home, Desrues offered the child a cup of chocolate. Like his mother, the boy was soon dead. The next week, Desrues forged a receipt and attempted to take possession of the beautiful château. But the sudden disappearance of his wife and son aroused Monsieur de la Motte’s suspicion. The police were summoned, and the bodies were discovered stuffed into chests and buried inside Desrues’s own cellar. In 1777, Desrues was executed by burning.”
    “Which is exactly what he deserved,” the king says.
    “His wife,” I add, “is currently imprisoned in the Salpêtrière.”
    “But was she part of the conspiracy?” Rose Bertin asks.
    I turn up my palms. “That, no one can know.”
    We go to the next model, and I tell them the story of the famous forger who sold works of art supposedly produced by the great Italian master Leonardo da Vinci. For twenty years he conned wealthy noblemen, delivering pieces to their homes and taking their money—two, three, sometimes four thousand livres for a single painting. Henri points out that this forger should have known better than to try to imitate one of the greatest artists—and scientists—ever to have lived.
    “Then you are an admirer of his work?” the king asks.
    Henri nods. “I am.”
    “Many years ago I saw a reproduction of The Vitruvian Man,” the king recalls. “It was fascinating.”
    “What is The Vitruvian Man ?” the queen asks.
    The king looks to Henri, allowing him to answer.
    “It is a drawing of man that is perfectly proportional to a real human body. Da Vinci based it on the writings of the Roman architect Vitruvius, who discovered that the proportions of nearly every human body are similar.”
    “Do you have an example of this?” the queen wants to know.
    Henri smiles. “Certainly, Your Majesty. Vitruvius discovered that the length of a man’s ear is one-third of the length of his face, and the length of a man’s foot is one-sixth of his height. As a child, I was asked to measure the distance from the tip of my head to the floor and divide it by the distance from my belly button to the ground. The number I came up with is the same number that nearly everyone will. A ratio of 1.618.”
    The queen turns to her husband. “Have you ever done this? And is it true? Was the number 1.618?”
    “It was when I was young.” The king looks down at his protruding stomach. “I’m not sure it would be now.”
    “I want to try it,” she exclaims, “as soon as we are home!” She looks up at the wax model of the forger again. “There are so many stories,” she reflects quietly.
    “All of these thieves and murderers,” the king says uneasily. “You modeled them?”
    I nod. “But not always in person.”
    “They are very …” He searches for the right word.
    “Realistic,” the queen puts in.
    We go from tableau to tableau, and I explain the disturbing tale behind each sculpture. There are men here whose names are synonymous with murder, and others whose faces are immediately recognizable. As we exit the Cavern of Great Thieves, Madame Royale demands, “Was it fun?”
    “Yes …” The king shivers playfully. “But only for a few minutes.”
    I lead our visitors to my model of Rousseau and tell them how my mother spent many nights cooking